


Strangers

by heartbreakholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Blowjobs, Fluff and Smut, I've not written smut before so be nice, John is a medical student who's procrastinating in the library, M/M, Sherlock is a library attendant studying Chemistry at uni, Smut, Uni!lock, and then sexy stuff, dates ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-03 18:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10254389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbreakholmes/pseuds/heartbreakholmes
Summary: John can't focus on his work but that's nothing new.What is new is the library attendant; a young, dark-haired man with a sultry voice, who can deduce John's name without asking and just so happens to study at the same university as him.How very fitting, John thinks, to be living in a real life romance plot whilst almost dating an almost librarian.





	1. The Library Attendant

John pulled his coat collar up against the wind as he half-sprinted across the road, heading for the local library. Rain trickled from his hair down to his neck and he reached the doors shivering, cursing Britain for its weather until feeling the warmth from the heaters tickle his face. 

This library was quiet compared to others he'd frequented and was free of any screaming children which immediately made it his favourite. The only noises were the flicking of pages and the sound of computer keys tapping; the opposite of a distraction, it comforted him. 

John soon realised his first impression was wrong as after half an hour of staring at a textbook he had made almost no progress, and the diagrams of body parts on each page would not stick in his memory. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he groaned and complained to himself about how much he hated university. It was a few seconds before he realised his thoughts were in fact not thoughts as he had said them aloud. 

Muttering apologies to people walking by, John stood up and walked the length of the library, browsing the shelves for newer textbooks that might fry his brain. That's what he told himself but in truth he was seeking a distraction. 

He found that distraction in the form of a library attendant; a tall, dark-haired man dressed in expensive looking clothing and looking much too bored to be there. The stranger was facing the shelves but John could tell he was about the same age as him, and also rather beautiful. Biting the bullet, he cleared his throat and put on his best flirting voice. 

“Hey, excuse me? I wondered if you could, uh, help me.” John asked in a forward, polite tone but as the attendant turned around to face him he felt his confidence slip. 

“Hello. What is it you need?” The man was more striking than John could have imagined and the only answer to the question he could think of was 'you'. Instead, he smiled and gestured to the shelves. 

“Well… I need a book.” 

The stranger's mouth twitched, first hint of a smile, but it went no further than that. John found himself disappointed. Blue eyes swept over John's frame and he felt exposed for reasons he couldn't describe. 

“A textbook.” A statement, not a question. 

“Yeah, actually. I was looking f-” 

“For a _medical_ textbook. You're studying to become a doctor, aren’t you? If you follow me I'll show you the section you're looking for.” 

The stranger spun on his heel and walked away. John stopped frowning and followed, half jogging to keep him in sight. 

“How do you know I’m a medicine student?” he called, wondering if this man had watched him study. 

“Simple. I observed it. What specific topic areas are you researching?” 

John didn't bother to ask how this person had _observed_ anything and racked his brain for a book to pretend he needed. 

“Um... what do you have? We're doing anatomy at the moment and it's not going in,” he gestured to his head now that the man had stopped walking. “Can't concentrate,” John added with a smile. 

The attendant hummed, thinking, and John realised he liked that puzzled expression on his face. He liked the way the man's lips parted and his eyes flicked from point-to-point, searching for information and analysing it. His thoughts were disturbed by a heavy book being pressed into his hands, cool fingers brushing his own. 

“Here, try this. It's a simple annotated guide to the basics of human anatomy but it's often helpful to start with what you _do_ know, so that learning _new_ information is not as hard. I think it will help.” 

“You sound like you know what you're talking about,” John remarked, with what he hoped was a smirk on his face. 

“I always do.” The man smiled wide this time and turned on his heel, heading for a different cluster of shelves, leaving John slightly bewildered. 

“Uh, thank you,” he called out. 

“Any time, John,” the stranger called back, leaving John to wonder how the man knew his name. 

* * * 

Thoughts of the tall, curly-haired man from the library tortured John's mind for the rest of the week. In his lecture halls he saw the attendant’s profile in those of his classmates and he saw man’s dark hair in every other brunette from the corner of his eye. It drove him mad. Never in his life had he been the romantic type but there he was thinking about this perfect stranger, who he knew nothing about, but who knew John’s name, career trajectory and probably countless other things not mentioned. 

So on the following Wednesday afternoon, John decided he would go back to the library under the pretense that he needed more books. He took work with him, aiming to actually get some of it done, but knew his mind would be elsewhere. 

The library was louder than usual, full of chatter and laughter from younger children. A group of them were clustered in the corner, sat on the floor listening to a story and interrupting it with squealing. John rolled his eyes and groaned at how noisy it was going to be until he quickly recognised the purring voice of the reader. He turned and saw the attendant whose face he had memorised and the effect was an embarrassing flutter jolting through his chest. There the stranger was, sat on a red beanbag, surrounded by kids, reading what looked like a copy of 'The Hungry Caterpillar' as if it was sensational literature. John shook his head and made his way to a desk far away from the children and tried to focus. 

It wasn’t long before he felt a presence beside him. 

“John. I was expecting you to drop by soon.” The familiar voice startled him. 

John tried not to smile at the young man’s words and instead stood up., immediately realised this was a bad decision because he was now closer to his face than anticipated, and so sat down again, slightly flustered. 

“Hi, sorry. Yeah, end of term exams are fast approaching, got to… you know. Study.” He ran a hand over the back of his head, nervous energy stealing his confidence again. “I don't know your name,” he said aloud, regretting it instantly. 

“That’s because I didn't tell you.” 

“Well, would you tell me? You know mine, somehow. I want to know yours.” 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock said. John smiled, pleased to finally have a name for the striking face. 

“Strange but nice.” Sherlock flushed slightly and dropped his gaze. 

“How did you know mine?” John asked. 

“It’s on your exercise books,” Sherlock said, the corner of his mouth hitching up, and John chuckled. _Obvious_. 

They dissolved into silence again as Sherlock glanced at the chair and touched his fingertips to it, eyes finding John’s after a few moments. John opened his mouth to offer him a seat before closing it again. It would be weird to ask him to sit with him, wouldn't it? 

“May I sit?” They were on the same page, which John found to be a relief, so he nodded a yes and kicked the chair lightly, eyes flicking over Sherlock's figure as he pulled out the chair the rest of the way and sat beside him. 

* * *

“No way? I haven't seen you around. The chemistry labs are right by the medicine ones, how have I not bumped into you?” John asked, astounded that he hadn’t met this fascinating man sooner despite going to the same university and both being in the same year. 

“I don't know, maybe you weren't looking hard enough,” Sherlock told him, leaning forward and laughing a little. 

John's eyes found the man's lips and he forced himself to look up at his eyes again. “I wish I had been.” The words sounded like a confession of more than he wanted revealed at that moment and so he racked his brain for something to add that would diffuse the moment he had created. 

“Me too,” Sherlock interrupted and John stayed quiet, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. 

They talked for another hour and John discovered Sherlock was studying Chemistry but actually wanted to pursue a career in crime. He found his new acquaintance wanted to become a detective, was gay, loved books, found children fascinating, adored bees and loved black coffee. Meanwhile, Sherlock had deduced that John was considering joining the army but wanted to be a writer when he was old, loved Bond films, dogs, tea, and had a strange obsession with knitted jumpers. How they had reached these topics of conversation, John didn't know, but he couldn't be more chuffed that they had. A stranger that had seemed so aloof and mysterious last week was in reality a kind soul who read to children and liked to impress people with his extraordinary observation skills. Well, he certainly had succeeded with John when it came to impressing and he thought about this as he left the library; a stack of crime novels and medical journals in his arms and a developing crush somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. 


	2. Coffee?

It was two days later that John received a text. 

_Coffee? - SH._

At first sight of ' _SH_ ' John's pulse faltered. Several questions flooded his mind, most importantly, _how did you get my number?_

John texted those exact words and a reply pinged back at him almost immediately. 

_Is that a yes? I'm new to this. -SH._

John stared at his phone, not sure what to think but still feeling an excited tingle all the same. Of course coffee with Sherlock was what he wanted, and had been since he left the library approximately forty eight hours before, but the idea sent a nervous shiver down his spine. 

He hesitated, pursing his lips, thinking of how best to phrase a reply. 

_It's a yes if we make it hot chocolate._ An attempt at being flirtatious but John knew somehow it would be lost on Sherlock.

_If we must. -SH._

John smiled and pocketed his phone, tapping his fingers on the desk in his room. It was silly to grin like a lovestruck teenager but the idea that a beautiful man had asked him out for coffee, after only one hour of talking, felt nice—like something from a novel. How very fitting, he thought, to be living in a real life romance plot whilst dating an almost-librarian. 

* * * 

John's hands curled around the handle of the coffee shop door, his stomach doing what could only be described as somersaults. His head told him to turn around, his heart told him to walk inside, and his body wanted other things John dare not consider if he wanted to look Sherlock in the eye for the next hour or so. 

After a few moments, he decided to follow his heart, ignoring how cliché thinking that felt, and pulled open the door. 

The aroma of fresh coffee and warmth filled his lungs as he scanned the tables for a sign of his date and then wondered at the same time if this was _actually_ a date at all. John was pulled from his thoughts as he focused on an elderly couple holding hands... three ladies laughing in the corner... two children fighting under a table and... 

Sherlock. 

As soon as John saw him, the man who was no longer a stranger but maybe a date met his gaze and smiled. He leaned back, placing the phone he had been fiddling with on the table and John's heart skipped as he took in Sherlock’s appearance. Purple shirt, dark blazer, expensive coat draped over the third chair; he looked stunning. 

“Hello,” John greeted, shedding his own jacket and laying it on the same seat as Sherlock's coat. “You haven't been waiting long, have you?” 

“Not at all, only fifteen minutes or so.” John cringed, guilty he'd made him wait. 

“Oh shit, sorry. It was my room-mate, Greg, he was being-” 

“Oh it's fine, I usually come here alone anyway. They're used to seeing me by myself,” Sherlock told John in what sounded like a reassuring tone, but it made him sad to hear. He thought of Sherlock sitting in the corner people-watching, making deductions about customer’s relationships, all without having someone there to tell them to, and wrinkled his brow. 

Sherlock drew his wallet from his coat pocket, not noticing the solemn look on John’s face, and glanced at the menu board. 

“Which hot chocolate would you like, then?” He asked. 

* * * 

It was amazing how much you could get to know a person in a short time, John thought as he recalled his first encounter with Sherlock Holmes the week before. Ten days ago they had been strangers; Sherlock being another beautiful and unattainable man that John didn’t really consider he had a chance with. Today they were on what John now felt _sure_ was a date. 

John pondered this as he listened to Sherlock tell him about the importance of preserving forensic evidence at murder scenes, hands waving dangerously close to their half full cups every few seconds. If John was honest, he had no idea what Sherlock was talking about but the way he said everything with such passion was incredibly endearing. It made his chest ache; he hated how attached he was growing already. 

“Don't you _see_ , John? Policeman these days are... _idiots_. Well, they always have been but now they are evolving to be a special brand of stupid.” 

_Adorable_ , thought John as he watched Sherlock sigh and tuck clasped hands under his chin. 

“My friend wants to go into policing,” John said, taking a sip of a now cold drink. 

“I would tell him not to bother,” Sherlock played idly with a sugar packet, poking the granules around the table. 

“She, actually; Molly. Rather good. Studies criminology at the Uni.” 

“Pfft,” Sherlock scoffed. “Well, I'm sure _she_ will be just as appalling as the rest of them.” 

John looked up and swore he detected jealousy in Sherlock's voice. Hiding a smirk, he pushed further. 

“She's nice though. I think you’d like her.” 

“I can be sure that I wouldn’t.” 

“I think she could even make a good detective,” John continued, “keen eye for detail and all that.” John knew his blasé explanation of detective work as needing only a 'keen eye for detail and all that' had riled Sherlock and also had a feeling his complimenting Molly had wound him up too. Sherlock flashed a look John hadn't seen before in his direction, some irritation behind his eyes. He didn't say anything, just watched John, who smiled. 

“Wouldn't be as good as you though.” 

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied immediately, not taking his eyes from John’s. Something about his intense stare made the collar around John's neck feel a little too tight but he resisted the urge to loosen it. Instead, he settled for clearing his throat and shifting in his seat. 

"Deductions... that's a pretty impressive skill, you know. Surely you can't tell everything about a person but what’s the weirdest thing you’ve deduced? I bet you could embarrass so many people." 

Sherlock didn't relent with the eye contact and John avoided it by glancing down at Sherlock’s hands, feeling a change in the tone of the conversation despite his rambling. His skin tingled and he tried hard to push away the explicit thoughts from earlier, the ones involving those cool fingers that had brushed his own on the day of their first encounter, involved them caressing his... 

He blinked, clearing his head and looked up at Sherlock who was definitely a few inches closer than before. John's breath hitched and he hoped Sherlock hadn’t noticed. With such a short distance between them he could now see all the shades of blue and grey in Sherlock's eyes and feel warm breath tickling his face. It was impossible to resist dropping his eyes to the man's rosy lips for a fraction of a second. Immediately John regretted it as an overwhelming urge to kiss them threatened to push him into acting on it. Except he didn't need to act on anything as Sherlock himself leaned further over the small table, careful to avoid the drinks, and closed the gap between them. 

John's mind was thoroughly blank as Sherlock's soft lips moved against his own, gentle yet insistent. He reached forward, running fingers through soft curls, but was pulled straight back to reality as Sherlock drew back, bright eyes scanning his face for a reaction. John tried to catch his breath, think of something to say – anything—but found he couldn't utter a syllable. Instead, Sherlock dropped his gaze to the table, finished his coffee in one gulp, and picked up his coat from the chair. 

“Thank you for everything, I'll be in touch,” he said to a stunned John, who was still recovering from what was possibly the best kiss of his life and glancing around to see who had watched the passionate display. 

“Yeah, uh... text me?” John called after Sherlock, who had left him to undo his top button in frustration and wonder what the hell any of it had meant. The only thing he felt certain of in that moment was that _yes, that was definitely a date._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and leaving kudos/comments, if you do. i hope you're enjoying the fic so far, it's the first chaptered one i've done and it's a learning process. next chapter will be the nsfw one! :)


	3. An Explicit Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the nsfw chapter. i've not written anything like this before so hope it reads okay! :)

A week passed without word from Sherlock and John had been too busy to go back to the library to talk with him. Yet, the memory of the date and the kiss that had ended it were at the forefront of his mind and consequently he spent every lecture staring into space, remembering how Sherlock's lips had felt against his own. 

“What's got into you?” His friend Martha asked, swatting a book at his arm with too much force. 

“What are you talking about? I'm fine,” John yelped, giving her a disdainful look. 

“If _nothing_ means acting like a _prat_ then I'm sure that's the truth, but unfortunately it doesn't and you're lying.” Her hazel eyes pinned him to the spot and he groaned. 

“I'm not _lying_ , I'm just... distracted,” John revealed, making an effort to avoid Martha’s gaze and focus on the lecture about cardiovascular diseases instead. His friend had a way of getting the truth out of people, even if she never seemed to tell it herself. 

“Distracted by who?”

“By _no one_. Leave it.” 

“Is it a girl?” John rolled his eyes and turned his head the other way, hoping it would signal the end of the interrogation. “Is it a boy?” She persisted. 

“Martha, for god’s sake. I'm just a bit spaced out, alright?” His half-truth didn’t have time to earn a response as at that exact moment his phone glowed and vibrated on his desk. Martha grabbed the device, her eyes going wide and then meeting John's. 

“It _is_ a boy! John, why didn't you tell me!” John groaned. 

“Because you don't need to know everything about me and because it's _nothing_. Now give me my phone.” John hissed and reached for it, more than eager to read what Sherlock had sent. 

“If it's nothing then why are you blushing and why are you meeting him in the Chemistry labs after class finishes?” Martha smirked and John felt his cheeks flush darker. Sherlock wanted to meet him again? Suddenly the anxiety that had been pooling in his stomach all week was replaced with an even more intense nervousness. 

"He's just a guy I met in the local library. He probably wants to... give me back my library card or something," he whispered, unconvincingly, and cursed himself for being so terrible at coming up with excuses. 

“Is that a euphemism?” 

“Martha Hudson!” Both of their heads snapped up at the sound of the professor's voice. John was thankful that he had a reason to ignore any further questions and turned his eyes to his page, which was lacking in notes. 

A few seconds later a note was pushed onto his desk and he glanced at it in horror. 

_I'm not finished questioning you yet, but let me know what he's like... I've not been with a Chemist before ;)_

John thrust the paper into his pocket and swallowed his embarrassment, earning a hushed snort from Martha. 

 

* * * 

Unfortunately, John found the Chemistry department with ease and was standing at the entrance of the lab Sherlock had asked to meet in sooner than he would have liked. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself against the nervous adrenaline running through him. Seeing Sherlock, knowing that the last thing they'd done was kiss, was giving John all sorts of feelings and as he reached for the door handle they doubled in intensity. 

Once inside, John was hit with the smell of experiments. He glanced around and saw the science room was large, crowded and much more interesting than the medical labs he spent much of his own time in. Several workstations were dotted around the place, with beakers and vials lined up on each surface, but only one station was occupied. Sherlock was stood poised over a Petri dish, pipette in hand, a concentrated look contorting his pale, angular face. John cleared his throat and Sherlock met his eyes and smiled. 

“Hello, John,” he said and John remembered how much he loved that voice. His mind drifted back to when Sherlock had been reading to children in the library and a familiar warmth filled his chest. 

“Hey again, is there something you wanted me for?” John asked, a sudden awkwardness causing paralysis. 

“Yes, indeed there is. I wanted to talk to you.” This response surprised John but he tried to hide it from his face. 

“Oh, about what?” 

Sherlock frowned slightly. “Nothing in particular, I just thought…” he paused and chewed his lip.  
“You haven’t been to the library this week.” 

John realised that what Sherlock actually wanted was a chat, not anything in particular, and so John approached Sherlock’s workstation and casually leaned on the counter. 

“I’ve been busy, not had time for studying there. Why... you missed me or something?” He joked. 

“Yes.” The earnest reply shocked John a little and he closely watched as Sherlock turned and placed a beaker of blue liquid on the shelf behind him. “I was waiting for you to drop by, as a matter of fact. I even inquired about you with your room-mate.” 

“You asked _Greg_ what I was doing? Why didn’t you ask me if you were in my dormitory anyway?” John thought briefly of how his room-mate would react later. He could see it now, being mocked for what Greg would surely see as _‘shacking up’_ with a Chemistry student. He pushed what would surely be an awkward conversation from his mind and instead focused on the test tubes Sherlock was fiddling with. 

“I couldn’t ask you, you weren’t there when I came.” 

“Right,” John murmured. And then it was silent, the air full of things not discussed, and the same tension that had occurred before their kiss the other day returned and John’s steady heartbeat began to quicken. 

“Um, Sherlock… there are some things I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” John rubbed his eye and drummed a finger lightly on the worktop. 

“I know.” 

“Yeah, well. It’s just. Well, why did you-” 

“I kissed you because I like you,” Sherlock didn’t hesitate to answer, halting John’s sentence and his thoughts in their tracks. 

“Oh.” 

Sherlock continued to drop coloured alkaline solution into clear acid while John was left to think of a response. The best he could come up with was: “I... well. I like you, too.” 

Sherlock’s breathing pattern changed, became faster, and his mouth twitched, but the rest of his face remained a steady mask and John was reminded of the aloof stranger he had thought him to be the week before. He studied Sherlock’s parted lips, watched his blue eyes flicker, and was hit with an overwhelming need for him so strong it frightened him. 

“That’s good,” Sherlock broke the silence a few moments later. 

John felt heat clouding around him, pushing down on his chest and making it harder to breathe. His collar was too tight, he suddenly hated jumpers, and his heart would not stop beating against his ribcage. As for his brain, it was blank as all the blood had rushed in directions further south, creating a problem he soon wouldn’t be able to hide. 

Taking a breath that was more shaky than he’d have liked, John spoke. 

“I... better leave you to it. I should go an-” 

“No!” Sherlock called. “Please don’t,” he said, softer. 

Sherlock dropped the pipette and John turned to face him, eyes flicking once again to rosy lips and a perfect cupid’s bow. It took two seconds for John to reach forward before their lips collided for a second time. 

Except this time around, the smaller of the two was prepared; his head not empty but on overload. John pushed forward until Sherlock was leaning against the worktop, his hands finding their way into curls while teeth nipped at an angular jaw, drawing small moans from parted lips. They were possibly the hottest things John had ever heard and he found himself going from semi to fully hard immediately. He was not shy about it now though, as Sherlock’s erection was just as insistent pressing into his thigh. 

“We can’t do this here,” John groaned, lips working on the base of Sherlock’s neck while cool hands roamed his back and caressed his shoulders. 

“Why not?” The familiar voice had changed completely, now something else entirely; it sent a shock wave through John’s body that prompted him to bite down gently on Sherlock’s skin. 

“Becau- _ahh... because_ , someone might come in and I don’t think they’d appreciate seeing what’s about to happen,” John breathed against Sherlock’s cheekbone, trying hard not to jerk his hips forward and grind into the other man’s body. 

“What _is_ about to happen?”

“Nothing if it’s in here.” 

“But I don’t care who sees,” Sherlock whimpered desperately, “I want you now.” Strong hands traced John’s sides and tugged at his shirt, eager to touch what was underneath, but John grabbed Sherlock’s wrists and forced them onto the worktop either side of him. The taller man fell backwards and gasped a little. 

“I _do_ care. Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go down to the medical lab and find the first aid room at the back. You will go in there and wait for me and I’ll be there in a few minutes,” John whispered in a gravelly voice, rough with arousal. 

“But-” 

“ _Go_ ," John growled and as Sherlock turned to leave, not bothering to take his coat or blazer with him, John took the opportunity to take in every inch of the man’s elegant form. 

“Oh, Sherlock? I also want the shirt off by the time I get there.” Sherlock flushed pink. 

"John?"

"Yeah?"

“You’re going to make a good soldier,” Sherlock whispered before he left, leaving John to inhale and exhale deeply, getting himself under control while suppressing a laugh at the absurdity of it all. _What am I doing_ , he thought as the lab door closed, realising that he had just ordered the most attractive guy he’d ever seen to a first aid room where he was then going to… he didn’t know exactly what, but he was sure his body had some ideas. 

After a minute or so had passed John crept across the corridors, heading for the now empty medical classrooms. He found the first aid room and tapped on the door, warning Sherlock it was him. He entered and his breath hitched at the sight that was waiting for him. 

Sherlock smiled as John’s eyes took in his pale chest, collar bones pink from where John had nipped them minutes before. He grinned, locked the door, pulled his jumper off, thankful for the cool air that rushed to his skin, and crawled onto the small bed that was supposed to be for students with headaches. John suppressed another laugh as he justified that he _did_ have a form of headache, just not in the head that would usually earn you a place in the University's medical room. 

Sherlock’s lips found John’s and resumed their earlier mission, tongue caressing his mouth and breath filling his lungs. John groaned, hands tugging at Sherlock’s trousers and underwear and the taller man eased his hips upwards to help him. 

“Please, John,” he whispered, guiding John’s rough hands down to his erection. John took in the sight before him—Sherlock on his back, chest heaving and hard cock pressed against his stomach, and felt like orgasming there and then. Instead, he ducked his head down and used something he knew to be much better than his hands. 

Suddenly, his head was crushed and he pulled back from between Sherlock’s thighs. 

“Sherlock! That _hurt_ ,” he hissed, looking up to see not blue eyes but dark curls. Sherlock had twisted his head and shoved his face into the pillow. 

“I’m sorry! I... wasn’t expecting you to do _that_. Please don’t stop,” the man on his back begged, thrusting his hips softly in anticipation. “I won’t do it again,” he added, breathing shallow. 

John wondered if this was the first time Sherlock had received a blowjob, or if he was just really overwhelmed, but gently took the erection back into his mouth and pressed his tongue against the wet tip, taking the length further and further in as he breathed through his nose. He heard his name being muttered over and over again, a hand finding its way into his hair and gently forcing him down further. The sound of his name in Sherlock’s deep voice had his body thrumming and working harder on Sherlock’s cock, and so he licked from base to tip, swirling his tongue and using his hands to stroke where his mouth wouldn’t reach. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sherlock whined, his legs nearly squeezing around John’s neck again. John pressed a hand down on a pale thigh, keeping it there as he sucked harder, obscene noises sending jolts of pleasure to his own erection. His hands stroked soft skin while his mouth worked, teased it until Sherlock’s breathing increased and his balls tightened and suddenly a hand pulled his hair hard. John swatted it away, knowing what Sherlock was trying to do, and instead hummed around the dick in his mouth. 

“ _John!_ ” Sherlock cried, his back arching, and John was rewarded immediately with the taste of bitter fluid running down his throat and a series of choked moans above him. John pulled off and coughed, spit almost dribbling from his chin, and saw Sherlock staring up at him with a debauched and shocked expression. 

“I’m sorry, I tried to stop you from-” 

“I know you did, that’s why I kept on going,” John told him in a voice that was croakier than he’d expected. He grinned and hushed Sherlock’s concerns by pressing his own lips hard against his mouth and realised how different this version of Sherlock was from the strange library attendant he’d first seen. The kiss was wet and Sherlock was trembling beneath him, his thin frame writhing against John’s body with the aftershocks of orgasm. 

John knew Sherlock could taste himself on his tongue and the dirtiness of it went straight to his already throbbing cock. He moaned and thrust against Sherlock’s thigh, remembering how turned on he was and not able to hide it. Sherlock pulled back from the kiss and pressed his face into John’s neck, cool fingers wrapping around the smaller man’s dick and stroking slowly. 

“Tell me what to do,” he asked quietly and John considered that Sherlock might actually be a virgin and felt a pang of guilt that this man’s first experience was in a first aid cupboard at the back of a University medical room. However, these thoughts soon faded when teeth scraped against his jaw and hot lips sucked on his neck, bruising the sensitive skin. 

“Just do – hmm- whatever you’re, _ah_ \- comfortable with,” John moaned, his neck arching upwards as Sherlock bit down on his shoulder and stroked his erection faster at the same time. 

“I want to do what you did to _me_ ,” Sherlock hummed, sitting up on his knees and pushing John onto his back. 

“Wait, are you sure? I get the impression that this is your first time doing this stuff, you don’t have to...” John protested half-heartedly as Sherlock stroked his aching cock, eyes fixed on the wet tip. 

“First time for everything,” Sherlock muttered before closing his lips around the head, earning a heavy sigh from John. He tried his hardest not to choke the beautiful man in front of him and focused hard on not coming right that second. A hot tongue swirled around the underside of his cock while hands caressed the rest of him, fingers pinching nipples too. It was incredible, made better by the warmth in his chest that he only got when with Sherlock. 

He threw his head back and moaned Sherlock’s name, rocking gently into his mouth as dark curls bobbed up and down in his lap. He laced his fingers into the thick hair and used his other hand to grasp Sherlock’s long fingers in his own; something that felt way too intimate but also right. His body tensed as Sherlock looked up at him through long lashes, blue eyes piercing his own, and when his tongue flicked the tip of his cock lightly, John knew he was close. 

“ _Sherlock_ ,” he warned, and lips were replaced with strong fingers, stroking faster and faster until white hot pleasure surged through John’s body. His moans were muffled by Sherlock’s insistent mouth on his own and John gripped Sherlock’s hand tight and rocked his hips as the last traces of his orgasm ran down his stomach. He opened his eyes as the kiss turned gentle, finding the other man inches from his face and smiling, slowly pressing feather-light kisses onto his cheeks. 

“I have something to tell you,” Sherlock murmured, and John’s heavy breathing stopped him answering straight away. 

“And what’s that?” He hummed, feeling calmer than he had for weeks. 

“After gathering sufficient data, I have come to the conclusion that I like you considerably more than previously thought.” 

John could think of nothing to say to this and instead threw his head back and laughed, putting an arm around Sherlock’s neck and pulling him in close again for a soft, sweet kiss. 

* * * 

John pulled his coat collar up against the wind, shielding his face from the icy rain. He jogged towards the library, a bag of textbooks pressing on his back, and cursed Britain for its less than temperate climate. The library doors opened and he was welcomed by a familiar warmth, a dry heat that burned against his face in the best way possible. While removing his coat the heater blasted droplets from his hair and sent them trickling down his face; he wiped them away with the sleeve of his jumper. 

He made his way through the shelves of books, spying each section’s name but ignoring the screaming children and squabbling students around him. John continued past sci-fi and history and almost past romance until he reached the desk he usually sat at and touched his fingertips lightly against the back of a chair. 

“May I sit?” He asked Sherlock, who was sitting and studying pages of Chemistry notes and a crime anthology at the same time. The dark haired attendant sent John a grin. He considered John’s question for a moment before kicking the chair lightly so it could be pulled out with ease. 

“Of course you can,” he replied with a wink. As John sat, Sherlock intertwined their fingers and both of them thought about how happy they were and how lucky they were to have met. They proceeded to talk about everything and anything; from bees and books, to their futures and music. They even touched upon who gave the best blowjobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> le fin. 
> 
> thank you for reading, commenting or leaving kudos on this fic! i really enjoyed writing this au, cliché as it is, and i hoped you also enjoyed reading it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, please leave kudos or a comment if you're enjoying it so far :)


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